“Without a doubt. But not from anything a squealing rat claims, true or not.” He leaned in, dropping his next words into the wretch’s ear. “Be wise and hold your wagging tongue lest you lose it. Not by me, of course.” Leaning away, he smiled and jostled past, leaving Fraco to digest Valeryn’s own threat.
He doubted there was a soul on this cursed ship that didn’t know Catalina had been spending her evenings in his bed. For the last four days, she had practically skipped along the decks. She chattered and offered sunshine smiles to everyone, undeterred by the very real danger of being hunted.
Every time Valeryn passed Henri, the old curmudgeon would simply smack his jowls, tsk, and shake his head. Nalda had reserved an especially evil eye for him, too. Rissa boys wisely left the matter untouched. ’Twas all well and good so long as he was left alone about it. He didn’t care what opinions the men had for him. He had but one goal to see through. Nothing else mattered.
A watchman in the topsails hollered out. Men scrambled around the deck like frightened rabbits.
“Capt’n,” Sam called.
“What we got?” Valeryn said, falling into step with Sam as they made their way to the other side of the ship.
“T’ree ships. Spanish. Port beam to port bow.”
Shit. Valeryn had hoped they’d clear St. Nicholas before encountering Ochoa’s dogs. And there wasn’t a doubt that was who the vessels belonged to. They’d been hugging the Hispaniola coastline for twelve hours. There was no chance three Spanish ships happened waywardly into French waters.
Cocklyn brought Valeryn a spyglass. “Is that who I think it is?”
Valeryn sighted in on the approaching threat. By their size, the ships were outfitted for war. Three decks, no less than eighty guns. Fight or surrender, they would never have a chance. They were done for.
“Aye.”
“Your orders?”
He scanned the ship. The crew stared at him, waiting. Looks of apprehension, fear and doubt scoured deep in their expressions. Did they wonder if whatever he commanded could lead them to safety? Would his decision make him the savior? Or did they realize the likelihood that they got out of this without nary a scratch was futile? Damn them! Damn them for having opinions.
Choices were limited. They could sail into the Gulf of Gonâve and risk becoming trapped or keep a northward course and hope to outrun them. A good two days from the cape, they’d never reach the open waters of the Atlantic in time. They’d but one other option. “Turn this bucket around. Now!”
Cocklyn rushed off to deliver the orders. Men raced to their duties, their directives mitigating the chaos.
Valeryn caught a glimpse of Fraco. What the devil? Was he grinning? Towney flashed before his eyes. His old friend used to wear the same crazed grin before trouble. Regret, shame lodged in his gut, reminding him of his failures. Reminding him that he was close to failing yet, again.
Sod it. He couldn’t waste time thinking of the past.
Wind blasted his face, the hair tied at his nape whipped at his back. Spray dampened his face as Amalia pivoted through the billowing surf. If luck be with them, they may outrun the Spaniards past the island peninsula and back out into the Caribbean.
“Valeryn!” With her skirts lifted, Catalina hurried from the hatch. “I was in the galley helping wash dishes with Henri. Plates and pots fell and rolled everywhere. ’Tis a mess! What is happening?”
Valeryn launched a burdensome sigh. “Please, Catalina. For once, will you listen? Go below and stay below. Help Henri.”
Tiny fists plopped to her hips. “I will not. Not until you tell me what is going on.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. The Montoya family was an insufferable lot. “We are changing our course.” Valeryn nodded over his shoulder to the ships in their wake on the horizon.
Her fists slowly dropped to her sides. She paled, reached for the railing to steady her legs from buckling beneath her. “What are you going to do?”
Catalina faced him, her wide eyes, pools of liquid, searched his for a reassuring answer. What could he say? That they would be all right? That he would see them through and protect them all? Those would be lies.
Resentment resurfaced, clogging his reasoning. A familiar state for him to be in. Anger flared hot. Why the hell did everyone think he would, nay, could save them? He was no captain. He was no leader with the right moves. He didn’t want this. Son of a bitch, he was only still here because he had to right his wrongs so that others did not suffer for his careless mistakes. Why must he be the one they looked to? Sod this!
He snatched at her arm. “Go below deck. Wash the fucking dishes. Draw in your damned journal. I do not care. But stay down there.”
Her brows creased sharply, she yanked from his grip. “What has gotten into you?”
“I will chain you to your bed,” he bent low to her ear with the rest of his threat, “and it will not be pleasurable. Get your arse below deck!”
Stunned, she looked around for anyone who might have overheard. Or perhaps she was looking for someone to come to her aid, since Valeryn had been cruel. Wisely, the men went about their duties. Staying ahead of the enemy was far more important than a chivalrous hand. Besides, he was the bloody captain.
Catalina spun in a huff and disappeared behind the hatch. One less damned thing to worry about.
For the next several hours, Ochoa’s ships pursued the merchant ship. How the Amalia managed to keep her lead was accredited to the crew busting their arses. It was strategic racing for the open waters of the Caribbean where it would be easier to disappear. Valeryn decided they’d tack around the little armada under the cover of darkness and slip by them, heading in their original direction. Once the sun broke the morning horizon, Amalia would be well on her way back to Matanzas. At least that was his theory.
And fortunately, Catalina continued to stay below. Henri had the ballocks to admonish him for upsetting the lass. Mildly interested, he let the old tar wag his squat finger at him while prattling on about what a bastard he was for causing her tears, and how insensitive he was to threaten her. Him? Insensitive? Coming from Henri? That was vexing.
The sun sunk below a bank of low-slung clouds. Bright gold and orange rays shot out from behind the dark gray, pink and purple billows. The winds were dying to barely a puff. Hues of blue ushered in the evening sky. Nightfall would be within the next half-glass. The timing couldn’t be more perfect, for they were sailing past the Tiburon Peninsula. Soon, before the night completely cloaked them, he’d order all lights extinguished. In the pitch of dark, they’d change their course. This may just work.
“Ship, ho! Dead ahead!”
Valeryn raced to the foredeck. A string of obscenities spewed from his lips. He didn’t need the spyglass to know it was Rissa on the horizon. He knew it in his gut. Should’ve expected it. And why not? He should be used to being kicked in the gut while down.
“Cocklyn!”
The tar appeared by his side. “Capt’n?”
“What are the bearings of our pursuers?”
“Abaft the starboard beam, broad on the port quarter, and dead astern.”
Valeryn briefly squeezed his eyes shut and snarled. The ships were spread too wide to tack away from the coastline into open sea. They were trapped. His fingers ached from squeezing the rail too tight. At least he had a hold of something, because he sure as hell didn’t with this hunt.
He shoved off the railing, still fisting his hands. He wanted to hit something, someone. Take out all his aggression in a bloodbath. Blazes!
They’d but one option. Flee to the east along the Haitian coast. Head for the last place they should go.
Another curse slithered between grinding teeth preceded his next words. “Set the heading for Île-à-Vache. Keep the guns at the ready.”
“We’re goin’ back?” Cocklyn’s brows scrunched together. “To Cow Island?” he repeated dumbfounded, as if perhaps Valeryn was confused, forgotten they weren’t welcome there. “Are you sure?
”
“Are you questioning my decision?” Let them get it out now. His men were apprehensive about any of his decisions as captain, as well they should be. But let him call it out. Let them be clear. “You want to have the outcome on your head, Cocklyn? Fight a goddamned fleet of ships? Get the decks wiped with our bloody carcasses? Do you want that to be yours? Well, do you? No?”
Cocklyn held up his palms in surrender, shaking his head faster than a flying jack in a hurricane. “’Pologies, Capt’n. I meant no—”
“Disrespect your captain? Venom laced in each syllable Valeryn spat. “Criticize my decision?” Is that what you didn’t mean to do?”
Cocklyn bowed his head, his jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring. Wasn’t a damned thing he could say that Valeryn wouldn’t twist and shove back into his face. Valeryn heaved a weighty sigh. “Just carry out my orders, Douglas.”
“Aye, sir.” The pirate dutifully spun around to deliver the new instructions.
For the second time that day, they abruptly changed course. He half-expected Catalina to come racing across the deck demanding to know what was happening this time. But she did not appear. He supposed he should be thankful for small victories.
He hated running from a fight, but that was exactly what he was doing. He’d rather face his foes headlong. Go for the kill. He recognized ’twas best to run until the advantages tipped to favor him. He hoped they’d tip soon. Christ, it wasn’t in his nature to run. ’Twas cowardly. He was not a coward.
Or are you? You have been running all your miserable life. Running from responsibility, duty, guilt…
Shut up!
Henri toddled up. “Cow Island? Have you gone mad?”
“Perhaps.”
“The crew, they ain’t too pleased with it.”
“Aren’t they?” he growled. Frustration and fury oppressed his patience and good sense to keep him from snapping. Rot that.
“Men! Listen up!” He climbed to the quarterdeck as much to address the crew as to not punch the nearest bastard in the throat. Jacks gathered around, sweat pouring from their bodies, fear and uncertainty etched upon their faces.
“We’ve got three mightily fitted ships on our back door, and the best damned pirate ship coming at our flank. I ask you, what you would do? What recourse would you take?” Acrimony crowded his words, belligerence volleyed off him in waves. These men would see what he was about. Like it or not, right or bloody wrong, they would damn well do as he said. He was their fucking captain. They’d suffer his wrath should even one of them so much as piss in the wrong way.
“We could sail east. But for how long? To where? We do not have enough provisions for longer than a week out. You remember how that fared.” He scanned the rigging to the men listening above, mere silhouettes in the dying sunlight, as Luis translated his speech. “’Tis an option with no guarantee other than starvation, and that they will continue to pursue us.”
’Twas a good argument. But there was another more important. So much so, he’d kill everyone on board to make sure they arrived on Cow Island. “’Tis an option that we would take if not for the reason why we are on this endeavor. We go to ensure the safety of Miss Montoya and her companions. The sole purpose to get them away from the danger of attack.”
“They will not receive us kindly,” Cocklyn said.
Sam bent to Henri. “T’ey friend. Why not?”
“Crazy lass started a riot.” Henri shook his head at the sad fact.
Sam tilted his head and shrugged, accepting the explanation as if having a woman making a mess of their pirate way of life was usual practice. Sadly, he was right.
“What do you intend to do when they turn us out,” Henri said.
“Convince them otherwise.” ’Twas all he would say.
“Not enough,” Henri countered.
“There is discontent on the island from the proprietor moving in, terrorizing the locals,” Valeryn said. “We offer protection in exchange for amnesty for just a few hours. We’ll promise to send brethren ships to negotiate with the people and their new lordship.”
“A roll of bones,” Dawson said.
Enough interrogation of his decision. “You are welcome to remove me from this post and captain your arse out of this,” he seethed through his bared teeth.
“We fight our way through Ochoa’s ships,” a crewman with broken English declared.
“We fight, we die,” Valeryn said. “’Tis a helluva fine thing by me. But are you willing to risk all? Are you willing to take a life? Are you willing to forfeit Miss Montoya’s? Think that through your blasted hearts.”
The man cowered back into the crowd of men.
“No? Well then, we take our chances at Cow Island. We deliver our passengers to safety. Then we set sail again, draw the attention away from Miss Montoya, and make a run for Cuba. Any man who wishes to stay on Cow Island may do so without prejudice. You fellows did not join Amalia knowing what dangers you’d face or that you may not make it home to your families.” Kipp flashed through his mind, followed by Magdalena’s devastatingly heartbroken cries. Nay, he would not fault any man for wanting off this ship. “While on Cow Island, I will send word to Santo Domingo. I have a debt to collect, and will arrange to have a merchantman sent back to retrieve you, and carry you back to Matanzas.”
No other promises crossed his lips. He had nothing else to offer.
“Anyone else have something to say?” ’Twasn’t a diplomatic question. ’Twas a dare. A deadly one, at that.
He nodded to Big John who immediately commanded the men get back to work. The lads scattered to carry out their duties before the sun completely gave up its light to the night. But one figure came forward, her gaze boring into him.
Catalina met him at the ladder. “You would leave me?”
“For your safety. There is no discussion. Do not try to reason otherwise.”
Her lips thinned, as if she fought to keep an argument down. “Would you come back for me?”
“Aye,” he lied.
She dropped her chin. Such an uncharacteristic demure thing for her to do. God, how he wanted to scoop her into his arms again, lay her down…
“Best you get below deck, gather your things, and get some rest. There is nothing else to do in the dark but race with the nighttime currents.”
Catalina stepped close, her ample bosom skimmed against his torso. She slid her tiny hand up along his frame to rest upon his chest. His heart violently pounded against his ribs. Could she feel it, feel what she did to him? “I can think of something we can do in the dark,” she purred.
They were just words, but coming from her saucy mouth sent jolts of awakening straight to his cock. She offered herself to him in the face of danger. His skin burned hot over that alone. Sweet Neptune, give me strength.
Valeryn removed her hand, the warmth left by her touch slow to fade. He took the moment to take a quick inspection of her bandage. No dried blood stains. Good. Bringing her hand to his lips, he planted a gentle kiss to her knuckles. What a blasted gentlemanly thing to do. Shit, what else had she done to him?
He grappled for that strength he needed. “A tempting treat, belladonna. One I will have to regrettably decline.”
Letting her go, he pushed past her, not wanting to see her reaction. Coward. “Get some sleep.” With that, he walked off the uncomfortable pressure building in his trousers.
First light slowly chased the blue twilight to the west. Birds cheerfully skimmed the fresh morning salty breezes. Noise from the waking world grew with the dawn. Valeryn watched as small fishing boats headed for prime waters.
They’d dropped anchor in Île-à-Vache two glasses ago. A very good time, when all the port was still asleep. He gazed out over the briny horizon. No ships. Though he couldn’t see them, they were out there. Somewhere. He’d be remiss to think they weren’t poised to take him down the moment his masts were spotted.
Valeryn had already made shore and arranged a room for Catalina, Nalda, and Fraco with Franni
e at Le Jardin. He threw in extra coin to keep their presence quiet until he could arrange passage for them. Frannie was quite accommodating. But Valeryn knew if the brothel owner was put to the screws, she’d sing. She would also be bought for a higher price, which is why Valeryn promised her more upon Catalina’s exit.
Frannie warned him a British ship had been haunting the island’s coast. To her knowledge, that was all. Her girls hadn’t had British seamen sniffing around, and Frannie hadn’t heard of any skulking about on shore.
Still, ’twas troubling. As was the task of smoothing things over with the locals who suffered loss from the riot. But he had an idea how. Eradicate the proprietor Hébert who had been taxing and threatening harm upon them. The brethren tried to stay out of political affairs. But since this bastard was put on Cow Island to rid it of pirates, and this being, or having used to be, a safe haven for the brethren until he brought Catalina here, Valeryn felt obligated to send Hébert to an untimely departure. Sadly, he would have to carry out the eradication on another trip. He had more pressing matters, like keeping everyone on Amalia alive.
In the meantime, he sent word by way of Sam and Cocklyn to the port residents. After delivering Catalina and her escorts to Le Jardin, he’d stop by the tavern for information Louis might have, and then to settle up with the chandler for the additional damage to his building the riot might have caused.
He shouldn’t care about mending relations with the chandler, Claude. But that was what the brethren would expect of him. Protect those who would support them. Goddamn it, they were in a rush. They were sitting prey as long as they remained in the bay. His only consolation was knowing Diego would not get too close to the island too soon.
With a heavy sigh, he left his post to fetch Catalina. The sooner he got her off his ship, the sooner he could get the hell out of there, and draw the danger away from her and the island.
But first, he must address the men.
They’d already been gathered mid-ship and were waiting, all their dirty faces turned to him. Within moments, the Amalia would be reduced to a skeleton crew.
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